The taho man

Every afternoon, I hear the familiar call, which starts on a high note and ends low: “Tahoooooohhhhh! Tahoooooohhhhh!” This is the familiar refrain that comes from the person we’ve dubbed as the “taho man,” or simply, Manong.

Manong carries two aluminum containers, one that is long and narrow, the other one short and squat, each a precious repository of the components of a traditional and treasured Filipino snack. The two tubs are balanced on a bamboo pole and carried by Manong, who is lean and strong from hours of walking carrying his precious wares, and sunburned from time spent under the sun.

The long and narrow container that Manong holds is for the taho (ta-HOH), unpressed soybean curd mixed with a coagulant. The resulting texture is that of quivery crÃ¨me Brulee. The short and squat container on the other hand, holds two compartments; one for the sago (sa-GOH), or tapioca balls; the other is for the brown syrup called arnibal. Viscous and shiny, it’s similar to molasses.

First the taho is scooped out into the plastic cups that Manong carries with him, or else we give him one of our own cups. I’ve always been fascinated with how supple and soft the texture of taho is, quivering slightly with every stroke of the scooper. It almost looks as though Manong is carving out ripples in a wave, if such a thing could exist. One of these days, I may just ask him if I can try my hand at scooping out the taho, oh so gently, oh so carefully.

Once the taho has almost filled the cup, Manong then lifts the lid of the other container. Using a narrow aluminum spoon which looks like a long, slim ladle, he carefully spoons out some syrup and drizzles it on top of the taho amidst a symphony of voices urging, “More syrup pa po, Manong!” Once there is enough syrup to appease the cries, Manong then scoops out little piles of sago, using it to top the taho. This time, as the cries start up again for “more sago,” Manong gently tells us in Tagalog that there might not be enough for the others. For most people, it’s either the sago or the syrup that makes a taho.

Once the cup of taho is in my hands, I use the tip of my spoon to gingerly pierce the top of the taho, its surface trembling at the pressure. As my spoon slides in deeper, the syrup and the sago are swallowed by a sea of white. After some stirring, the taho is a kaleidoscope of white and brown, sparkling with the translucence of the sago. The first mouthful is like liquid coursing down my throat. It’s warm, from the syrup and the heat. It’s sweet, with the undertones of brown sugar. It tastes like the comfort of a thousand happy memories.

Oooh, taho! Yummy! Another Pinoy comfort food that I’m definitely missing! Whenever my craving for it gets bad, I just improvise. I use the silken tofu that they sell in the grocery stores. I then add some homemade arnibal (syrupy caramelized brown sugar) and boil the tapioca balls that I buy from the Asian stores in the area. The result is close, but alas, not quite the same!

Your taho description makes it sound a million times better than I remember it! I mean, I like it but it sounds like you have super-taho. The kind I’ve had (from Chinatown or Chinese supermarkets) never came with sago. And not a lot of syrup either. I like sweetness.

Taho from the Taho man is good. But I’ve recently discovered where the taho is so much better. It’s rich yet light. The syrup’s not too sweet either. My only qualm is that I’d like more sago in my cup. Hehe.

Check out the Bean Curd Factory/Shop (hmm, not exactly sure of the name) along Banawe St. in Quezon City.

omg…this christmas there was taho at the christmas party but my sister and i left to watch a movie and my mom told me there was some. so now i missed out and i want the recipe if i can ever find it. well happy days and hope i get my taho soon =)

Last year in Manila we were awakened each moring by the call of the Taho Man’s beautiful baritone call at the front gate. Of course he was heard by several homes at once and soon surrounded by anxious taho/sago fans with pesos in hand. The fellows in the neighborhoods seemed to be well know to their customers much like a mailman or uncle. No wonder many simply take to calling him Manong. It was yummy every time.